your kiss is my drug
by backseat compromises
Summary: "You're mine, America," Canada whispers, lavender eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Mine." Warning: Noncon.


Canada watches quietly. There is nothing he can do about it, really, apart from watching. It isn't his fault that America has perfectly formed lips; luscious, cherry red and definitely soft to the touch. He has no control over what he dreams - not that he really minds - and he dreams of ravishing America's lips, kissing him senseless, feeling those lips all over him, thrusting into the tight, wet heat of his mouth...

Canada feels his cock twitch at the mere thought of it and he groans inwardly, sneaking a glance at his brother from across the room. America is sitting, listening attentively as Russia presents on something he isn't interested in. What he is interested in is how America pressing is pressing his ballpoint pen against his wonderfully kissable lips, deep in contemplation. Canada gulps as he stares unabashedly, fantasies rapidly filling his mind.

Canada has always been watching. Since young, he has always had a strange, if not morbid fascination with lips. It started out with France; then with England (he remembers placing his fingers on both their lips, trying to learn how their lips moved when they spoke and how the both of them would gently kiss his forehead after that) but soon it became apparent that it was not enough. No, it could never be enough.

Until he met America. America, his brother, his twin. He looked just like him, except his blue eyes sparkled like stars in the sky, his smile radiated pure, unadulterated warmth and his lips, oh, his beautiful, perfect _lips_.

He longed to touch them. To trace the softness beneath his fingertips, burning its shape into his memory for eternity. To feel his lips under his, parting just for him. But somehow, they always had to part, he had to hold back in fear of what France and England might do to him (it was forbidden to have such sinful thoughts of his own brother, wasn't it?), the opportunity for the both of them to be together, alone, hardly came by and soon enough, Canada felt that he had to do something, because if he didn't, he felt as if he would _die_.

So he starts to formulate a plan, which, to his surprise, forms rather quickly while he stares, glassy eyed at America. He drums his fingers impatiently against the desk (strangely no one hears it, maybe it has something to do with him being relatively invisible to the rest of the world) and as soon as the meeting ends, he pulls his brother aside. Within seconds, he has him bound, gagged and all ready to be brought home as the perfect toy.

No, he did not want America to be his toy. Or did he? He frowns. _Something has to go_, he studies his brother closely and yes, oh yes, the _gag_ has to go. He removes it and stares at America's unconscious form, admiring his body, his toned muscles and most of all, his lips.

Canada feels the overwhelming desire to take America once more. He cannot hold back any longer, he has to do this. America's eyes flutter open, looking up at his brother in confusion, wondering why he is in a dusty basement, sprawled over a dirty mattress. Canada unzips his trousers, freeing his erection as he eyes America hungrily.

America gulps nervously but before he can speak, Canada forces his mouth open and in a single stroke, his arousal is sheathed fully within the wet heat. America nearly gags; tears are forming at the edge of his eyes as Canada withdraws, only to thrust in again. He tries to break the handcuffs around his wrists but it is useless he wonders what they are made of and he tries to plead with his brother through the pained expression in his eyes but Canada, oh Canada isn't paying attention, all he cares about is reaching his completion. He feels as if he is in heaven, cock finally shoved down his beloved brother's throat as he thrusts forward, grip on America's hair tightening and with a growl, he goes over the edge, spilling white all over his face, lips and glasses.

Canada drops kisses all over America's cheeks and forehead, tasting himself when he presses his lips gingerly to America's. He starts hesitantly, lips ghosting over before touching fully. His kiss remains slow, patient, tongue trailing along America's lower lip before deepening the kiss. His fingers splay over his brother's jaw and throat, tongue sliding in, tasting himself as he touches his tongue to the roof of America's mouth, exploring. When he finally breaks the kiss, the both of them are panting heavily as Canada sighs, making unmistakably pleased sounds.

"You're mine, America," Canada whispers, lavender eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Mine."

America finds that the words, any words that could have been said have slid down his throat, choking him. His throat feels raw, painful, scalped and his heart feels as if it's on fire, burning him from inside out. So he looks up at Canada and nods numbly as his brother ravishes his mouth again and again and _again_.

* * *

**a/n: **for the kink meme at http : / / hetalia-kink . livejournal . com / 18439 . html ? thread = 63189255 # t 63189255 life sucks recently. got my results back and it sucked. oh well. so. to cheer me up (lulz) **reviews will be greatly appreciated.**


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